


A Lesson in Patience

by ama



Category: Justified
Genre: Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 14:19:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6287992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ama/pseuds/ama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wynn likes to encourage Mikey to expand his limited range of experience, because he's a kind, considerate, selfless kind of guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lesson in Patience

**Author's Note:**

> No, I have no idea where this came from, yes, I do feel a moderate amount of shame that I wrote this instead of sleeping when I had to be out of the house by 6:45 the following morning.

They had been fucking for several months before Wynn brought up the idea of butt plugs.

He figured he ought to take it somewhat slow. At first, Mikey had been the type to think that sex standing up was kind of kinky; and while he was _eager_ in every sense of the word, it seemed best to ease him into it. He didn’t mind when Wyn was demanding in bed—it was a natural extension of their nonsexual roles, anyway—and showed remarkable composure when the orders turned from “take your pants off right now” to “don’t even think of touching your dick until I tell you to, or I’m going to start chopping off extremities.”

When sex began to get rougher, he even seemed to initiate it half the time. Wynn would scratch and bite, and find that Mikey retaliated by slamming him against the wall, pinning him against the mattress hard enough to leave clusters of purple bruises, tugging at his hair until he was bent back nearly in half. All with no direction at all. It was magnificent.

Still, he had introduced toys very, very cautiously, beginning with a single silk rope to bind one of Mikey’s wrists to the headboard. Really, restraints were practically vanilla nowadays, weren’t they? Mikey showed no concern except some mild reluctance to sacrifice, even temporarily, the use of his gun hand.

The greatest victory, in Wynn’s mind, had been the riding crop. It had seemed a natural progression, to him, seeing as he tended to use Mikey like his own personal stud horse. And while the random bruises were fun and all, he was a man who liked to have a little order and method in his life—Lord knew his professional career wasn’t giving him any stability at that point, so it would be good to relieve a little stress, bring Mikey to heel every once in awhile. When he first brought it up, though, Mikey had been reluctant.

“This is some BDSM shit, right?” he said, eyeing the black leather warily. Wynn was, for a moment, caught off guard.

“Yeah, it’s—Mikey, we’ve had a safeword for a month and a half, what did you _think_ we were doing?”

“I’m just saying. I’m not really into like the leather stuff, you know, like with the bodysuits and the masks or whatever, if that’s where this is going. That’s kinda too much.”

Wynn paused again.

“It’s a riding crop.”

“I _know_ what it is.”

“So do you want to try it or not?”

Mikey wrinkled his nose.

“I guess. I don’t see the point but sure, I’ll try it.”

Lukewarm response aside, Wynn was a pro. He knew exactly how to play it; first he made sure to get Mikey nice and hot and bothered, and naked, and then he sat back against the headboard and ordered Mikey to suck him—while still jerking himself off, of course, to make sure pleasure was still surging through his bloodstream. He indulged in that for a few moments and then brought the crop down against Mikey’s back with a satisfying _thwap_.

Every muscle of Mikey’s body rippled, and Wynn watched in fascination as the faint line on his skin turned white and then, briefly, flushed red before returning to its normal color. Mikey pulled away and he saw that his cheeks, too, had turned red.

“Could you do that again?” he asked.

“Did I tell you to stop?”

Mikey gave him a long-suffering look and resumed the blowjob, which steadily became sloppier as Wynn slapped the crop against his back and his ass with increasing speed and force. After a few minutes of groaning with his mouth full, Mikey pulled off and sucked his fingers in his mouth. Wynn spread his legs obligingly for Mikey to prep him as fast as possible and then pound into him before they both lost control. The hot red stripes crossing his back were fucking gorgeous.

So the riding crop became a much-beloved part of the regular rotation. The idea of penetrating Mikey didn’t take off until one night when Wynn came first and was bored at the prospect of having to just lie there and get fucked for another ten or fifteen minutes. He put on a good show, murmuring seductively in Mikey’s ear and all, and maybe the fact that they had been at it for a while was starting to bore Mikey, too, because he agreed with only a second’s pause to think—and then, inside of a minute, had pulled out and spurted cum all over Wynn’s chest, which he very much did _not_ have permission to, by the by.

“That’s wild,” he grinned as he caught his breath. “Shit. You know I only ever bottomed once and I didn’t really like it, but fucking you and getting fucked at the same time? Shit, that’s good.”

“Well, be a good boy and maybe I’ll be nice again in the future,” Wynn said nonchalantly, and the fact that the very next day he stepped into some rundown sex shop and bought four butt plugs of varying shapes, sizes, and colors, while Mikey stood behind him trying to look tough and serious and not at all excited, was a _complete and total coincidence_.

“The problem,” he announced one day as he dragged his satiated, bruised body into the shower, “is that you have no patience.”

“Are you kidding me?” Mikey called through the open door. “My job is to stand around doing jack shit all day. I’m the most patient guy you know.”

“Not when it comes to sex.” Wynn tilted his head back and enjoyed the scalding hot water. “As soon as I bring out one toy, you’re practically humping my leg like a puppy. Can’t get anything done.”

“What, you’re saying I’m too fast for you?” Mikey asked, leaning against the doorframe. Wynn looked out from behind the shower curtain and was disappointed to find that he had already put on pants. That was a shame. At least he was still shirtless; he wondered, briefly, if it was practical to declare that Mikey ought to perform all of his duties shirtless from now on. Doubtless Deputy Marshal Givens would have something to say about that.

“I’m saying there’s too fast, and then there’s too fast,” he said meaningfully. “There’s a difference between a nice quick fuck, and me absolutely _wrecking_ you and forcing you to scream my name til kingdom come, which, trust me, I would be perfectly capable of doing if you didn’t keep distracting me.”

“Come on.”

“Oh, if you need proof, I am more than happy to provide.”

He let the shower curtain fall back again, but he could guess the look on Mikey’s face—the skeptical grin counteracted by the gleam in his eyes. He smirked to himself as he washed with quick, efficient movements. Hot showers were a nice indulgence, but at his age he really couldn’t be risking dehydrated skin, could he? Not if he wanted to keep pulling in men more than twenty years younger than him, which he had every intention of doing.

“Yeah? You, uh, got anything in mind?”

“That butt plug, the purple one we haven’t gotten around to yet.”

“What about it?”

“I chose it specifically because I’ve heard it’s very comfortable for longer periods of time. Let me put it in tomorrow at—say, lunchtime, midmorning, and I guarantee by nine o’clock tomorrow night you’ll be begging for it. Not that it’s so hard to make you beg, actually, but the payoff will be even better.”

He stepped out of the shower and into a fluffy white robe. Mikey was still leaning against the door, his lips pursed. He grinned and shrugged.

“I’m game. But I don’t think you realize how impatient _you_ are, Wynn. It’s not just me who wants to hurry things up. You’re bossy as shit, I bet you’ll be just as ready to go as I am.”

“I doubt that.”

-

The actual insertion went off without a hitch. Just after ordering room service, Wynn had Mikey get on the bed on his hands and knees and teased him, enough to get the butt plug in comfortably and give him a bit of a stiffy just to make a point. Occasionally during lunch, a ripple of something would go over his face, nothing to give him away to an outside observer but enough to make Wynn smirk. Then, afterwards, they went out to the Winnebago so Wynn could look over some of the ledgers of his clients from the old days, the ones he was hoping to keep on even after the majority of the Dixie Mafia had collapsed. For a while Mikey stood near the door. Then he sat on the couch.

As evening approached, Mikey began to shift in his seat. Wynn didn’t notice at first. Then he only felt a mild annoyance at the distracting creak of the couch cushions as he was trying to read. It took him a good ten minutes to realize what was happening, as his bodyguard’s breath suddenly hitched. Mikey let out a satisfied sigh that ended in half a groan and he relaxed against the seat, his hips still moving in a slow semicircle.

Wynn paused in his work and stared.

There was a definite pattern. First Mikey moved side to side, and then he dug his ass deep into the seat—a harsh grunt always escaped him then, enough to make Wynn’s heart skip a beat—and then his hips lifted again, moving up and down in a steady rhythm. After that he moved in a tight circle, his breath catching at unforeseen moments before he relaxed again and returned to the gentle side-to-side rocking. He repeated this pattern two or three times before he looked over and caught Wynn staring; Wynn cleared his throat and looked down at his papers again, but he didn’t have to look to know that a smug grin had graced the other man’s face.

Mikey began to speed up. The soft, erotic noises that caught in his throat became louder and more frequent. The cushion squeaked beneath him. Wynn couldn’t help but peek up, just once, and saw the outline of a hard cock against the fabric of Mikey’s pants. His mouth went dry.

After a moment, Mikey abandoned his pattern. His hips rocked backwards and forwards, grinding down on the butt plug as hard as he could, while his palm rubbed at his erection through his trousers. He muttered an expletive under his breath and paused for a moment, panting heavily, before the obscene sound of a zipper being undone split the silence of the trailer.

“Do you have any—?”

With alacrity, without looking up or saying a word, Wynn reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tube of $35 hand cream and tossed it in the general direction of the man currently driving him to distraction.

“Thanks.”

He heard the cap pop open. Then a throaty moan and a faint squelching sound, and it was over.

Wynn sighed heavily and closed the folder in front of him. He rested both elbows on the table, covering the lower part of his face, and looked up.

Mikey made a glorious picture. His feet were still fully planted on the floor, to give him leverage as he dutifully fucked himself on the toy inside him, which couldn’t be nearly as satisfying as he wanted. He was still fully dressed—hadn’t even shrugged off his suit jacket—except for the fly of his pants, which was gaping open, his boxers hastily shoved down so he could stroke his cock without interference. He had a nice cock. If Wynn had chosen his bodyguards based in part on cock, if he had planned from the beginning to fuck him, he couldn’t have chosen a nicer one—thick enough to be a good handful even for a man of Mikey’s size, and long enough to gag on without becoming too much of a nuisance.

Slowly, Mikey dragged his hand from the base up to the head and his whole body seemed to move with it, his hips lifting higher and higher until his hand swirled the sensitive head and his body snapped back like a bowstring. He fell against the couch, gulping for air, and turned to look over at Wynn.

“You’re not gonna help me out?” he asked breathlessly.

“No, I don’t think so,” Wynn replied. He was, frankly, amazed at how casual his own voice sounded, given that he was more aroused than he could ever remember being in his life. “I’m enjoying the show.”

Mikey didn’t seem surprised. He whined, but without much protest he closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall as his hand picked up speed. It was difficult; he stuttered, one moment jerking off as fast as he could and the next letting his hand still completely as he lifted his ass off the couch and slammed back down again.

“Jesus!” he said explosively. “What’s the fucking point of these things? Just to drive you fucking crazy?”

“They make bigger ones,” Wynn said conversationally. His voice was hoarse, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Mikey’s dick, the sheen of precum and lotion that made it look so damn _delicious_. “Dildos. Plugs that vibrate.”

“I thought—” Mikey was panting even more heavily now, squirming in his seat as his fisted his cock. “I thought vibrators were for chicks.”

“Oh, Mikey, you’ve got to learn to be more creative than that.”

“Shit, I’ll try it,” he said. He swallowed. “How does it—? Do they just vibrate all the time, or—?”

“There's a remote. I would have the remote, of course. I think our little experiment has proven that you’re not patient enough.”

“I kept feeling it in my ass,” Mikey muttered. “Every time I got up and sat down, I’ve been half hard all day.”

What the hell was patience? Wynn gripped the table with one hand, trying to resist the urge to reach for his own erection—or to tear off his trousers and ride Mikey’s cock until he passed out, or to find a nice big dildo and see if he could finally make him _scream_ with pleasure, all of which seemed like viable options at this point.

“Did you like it?” Wynn asked. His voice was even rougher now, and Mikey let out a low groan.

“What the fuck do you think? Oh—oh shit, Wynn, I’m going to come.”

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?” He let his hand pause for a moment and his head lolled to the side as he whimpered. “Please—please, I’ve gotta—”

“We haven’t finished our discussion. Did you like having a boner all day? Because you know that’s what would happen if we got one that vibrates. I would have the remote. I could turn it on whenever I wanted, whenever I wanted to see you get all hot under the collar, and then turn it off. You wouldn't be able to spend all day beating it just because you wanted to. You would be under my complete control.”

He was using his slow, pleasant, dangerous voice, as smooth as silk, and Mikey’s eyes glazed over. His hand began to pump his cock again and he was rocking in his seat.

“Yeah—yeah, I want it, oh fuck, I—I need to come, please, sir, please can I—”

“Not yet,” Wynn said through his teeth, possibly in the hopes that forcing Mikey to delay just a little longer would prevent _him_ from ejaculating in his pants like a goddamn teenager, but he could see the way Mikey’s finger kept returning to that sensitive spot just below the head of his cock, see the way his broad chest was gulping in sharp breaths of air. “Not yet—”

He didn’t scream, exactly, but the groan that wrung itself from Mikey’s chest was guttural and nearly loud enough to rattle the windows as he came. His body was pulled taught, lifting up out of the seat, and then he fell back and ground down in small, halting movements as semen spurted from his cock. Another moan stuttered out of him and he slumped against the seat with a few more lazy tugs at his dick. It was beginning to soften, lying obscene and wet against his cloth-covered thigh.

“Sorry,” he mumbled .

Wynn did not respond. He walked around the table and stopped before the couch, looking down at Mikey—at every beautiful inch of him. He reached down and took hold of his cock. It was hot and heavy in his hand, and when he gave an experimental swipe at the gleaming tip, Mikey whimpered.

Neatly, he tucked his penis back into his boxers and zipped up his trousers. Then he wrapped his hand around Mikey’s right wrist and picked it up. There were streaks of cum on his hand; he pressed his nose against his skin and inhaled the musky smell, and the carefully lapped at one neat line of semen. The other man made a low appreciative noise in the back of his throat, and Wynn let his hand fall again.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said tonelessly. He turned around and out his hands in his pockets. “Clean yourself up and take that plug out, for now. You’ll be rewarded later tonight.”

With that, he walked into the bathroom and slammed the door shut—and immediately sank against it, his fingers scrambling for his zipper as he diligently ignored the sound of Mikey laughing on the other side.


End file.
